The Essence of Sunset

The watering hole was alive. It was surrounded by a lush countryside littered with dense thickets of shrubs and grasses, an old abandoned barn off in the distance was rotting with antiquity, and an obscure group of cattle huddled around it. Two maturing redwood trees shielded me from the crimson glare of the setting sun; it was from a soft, creaking bench coated with a sliver of dew that I felt at peace. The scent of pollen, moist tree bark, and mud-drenched soil was propelled through the air by a cool breeze, bringing an eerie enticement. The sounds of young squirrels quarrelling, the chirps of air-borne swallows, the boasting barks of proud dogs, and the gentle tremor of insects blended in with this earthly sensation. Along the brim of this vitality, there was a symphony of fruit—lemons and pears, strawberries and bananas, apples and grapes—all feeding off the vibrant energy, desperately grasping the fringes of this melody, unwilling to let go. The whole neighborhood is gathering for the setting sun.

In the surrounding marshland there is a delicate trickle of water winding along the gravel, an interminable basilisk wetting the landscape with the subtle flow of an unrelenting force; its delicate strum of chords playing an exhilarating tune. Its banks are coated with an emerald moss and its vast expanse covered with harsh, jagged stone, avoided by the neighborhood for their unforgiving nature. The sky had a soothing effect as it cast its long orange glow, igniting the flames in the horizon, yet this haze was crisp and clear. The sun an impressive dancing fireball was sinking into the distance, gradually, as it whispered “farewell”. As these brilliant, vivid colors flashed across the landscape, I began to see the shadowy outlines in front of me through squinted eyes.

In my vicinity a freshly planted blueberry grove was developing, it was growing steadily as the rich soil continued to nurture it; the young emerging sprouts were the signs of spring‘s revival. Along this patch a scraped trail, marked by the intricate pattern of bike wheels and sneakers, looped around it, the thousands of journeys across this terrain made apparent by its shabby, worn appearance. A continuous stream of traffic flowed down this highway: a haven for the passionate biker or care-free jogger. In the distance the faint, steady hum of car engines was adding a repeating rhythmic pulse to this sanctuary, coordinating with the tatter of footsteps along the trail’s weary gravel. Young couples continued down this road with over-active dogs, introducing boisterous barks into the air; they give the trail a purpose, gliding across it evening after evening after evening.

Directly in front the neighborhood was gathered. A petite playground of color, demanding ones attention, was splashed around in an array of slides, swings, handles, steps, and knobs; Children played carefree, filled to the brim with vivacity, having been released from the day’s prisonlike confinements. Consequently adults attempted to contain this commanding wall of sound and hyperactivity, worried about the children’s safety. The scent of barbeque was drifting through the air as families gathered together on the splintering, wooden benches for the evening meal. As I calmly observed this gently ensuing clamor of sound, it was gradually blending into the surrounding paradise. This was the epitome of harmony.

The center of the structure had a lone tree that interrupted the flow of pavement, and claimed dominance among the surrounding cement and plastic, proclaiming its importance with proud, outstretched arms. This central mast with its tangled branches and intricate leaf patterns supported the surrounding bliss with its aged arms. When I was younger this elderly tree was an entertaining world of climbing as I would stay perched among its branches for hours. It provided a place for reflection and contemplation. As I scaled the treacherous tree, bark crackled beneath me as the course wood cut my skin, piercing it with sharp shards of wood; it was painful, yet rewarding. I now observed a new generation of children upon the aged tree laughing, playing, crying, smiling. This tree will continue to offer liberty and delight to children, spreading its arms out in a warm embrace for the coming generations and providing support for this refuge.

This place is brimming with life during the final hours of the day, acting as spot of relaxation and leisure with a pleasant, comfortable atmosphere. It has been a place for me to relieve the stresses of everyday life and sink into a luxurious haven, allowing me to forget and recover. Many childhood memories originate at this sanctum, strongly influencing my decisions, motivations, and actions. Surrounding this sanctity on all sides is a neatly woven cluster of houses all constructed facing towards it, implying, almost, that this is the central pillar of the neighborhood. Throughout the evening the people—infants and children and adolescents and adults and elderly—all travel in the direction of this watering hole, resembling animals gathering in the wild, wishing to share the essence of sunset.

-Akhil